One Seriously Messed Up Week In The Life Of Miles Prower
by epicn00b
Summary: I don't particularly have an interesting life. Normally, the most exciting thing is hearing Sonic's stories. There is an exception, though, and it comes in the form of the most action-packed, adrenaline-pumping, mind-blowing week anyone will ever have. And yes, that's a fan picture. I love my fans.
1. Prologue

"Insert Team America theme tune." That was me.

"AMERICA!" That was Silver.

"F**K YEAH!" That was the crowd.

"Coming again to save the motherf**king day, yeah!" That was Knuckles.

"This is so badass, we could get away with Gay Bar being the theme tune right now." That was me again.

With the help of a certain echidna, me and the hedgehog had defeated what was basically the biggest WMD Eggman had never made. But epic moments don't go without explosions, and this moment definitely had more than its fair share. Somehow, we'd gathered some kind of cult following, so now we had a giant cheer going on behind us. Put it this way; it was f**king awesome.

"I WANNA TAKE YOU TO A GAY BAR!" Apparently, the crowd didn't understand sarcasm.

Silver facepalmed, followed by Knuckles, which for him wasn't such a good idea, since he ended up punching himself in the face.

My name's Miles Prower.

Most people know me as Tails.

* * *

Okay, so maybe that intro wasn't brilliant, but it's not like I gave away any of the plotline. Actually, there is no real plotline, no real character development, and if I'm being completely honest, no point to any of this, but still, I thought readers would find it interesting if I documented my life. The bits that stand out, anyway. Not like "Ate a packet of crisps this morning. From the side, one looked a bit like a-" umm, never mind.

That's what Silver says anyway, but he's probably asked everyone this, and is going to go into the future, compile all the books we've written, and make LOADS of money. Unscrupulous little f**ker. Either way, apparently I have to make this interesting, so yeah. I'm kind of on a low budget, so instead of publishing this as a hardback, I chose the noob option and decided to use FanFiction instead, because obviously, I'm a fan of myself. A bit like Duke Nukem.

So you probably know me already. Miles Prower, also known as Tails. A yellow kitsune, 12 years old (I'm not 8, who came up with this utter tripe?), mechanical genius, etc. And this is one seriously messed up week in the otherwise mundane and uneventful life of me. You can see where this is going already.

The event I just described was on Sunday. Tomorrow...

_**...my adventure begins.**_


	2. Monday: Part 1 - In The Beginning

Okay, so I have to apologise. I haven't written (or typed, whatever you prefer) for about 4 months. That's what Sonic tells me, anyway. But you'll see why, if you even find this story remotely interesting. I'm not a particularly good writer anyway. That prologue made me look like something I'm not, namely a random/bad-ass. I am not a badass, and I work with reason, not random. Let's face it; I'm basically the definition of nerd. I actually made that scene look more awesomer than it was. (Yes, I just typed 'more awesomer'. I know the correct grammar is 'more awesome'. If any of you get the reference, give yourself a round of applause. Or something.) It actually ended with Knuckie having to go to A&E from whacking himself in the face. Yeah, that's right.

To continue with feeding you completely irrelevant parts of my life, someone hacked my YouTube account. Why would you want to hack my account? I'M A FREAKING FOX. Speaking of foxes, I tried using FireFox the other day. Turns out it's a jerk to set up. The guide says I don't NEED a profile. "Your profile is missing or damaged, so you can't use the internet." And when I go to create a profile, it says "Your profile is missing or damaged. You can't make a profile." Why? Just why?

In case you're wondering, yeah, we have the Internet in this reality too. Unbelievable piece of engineering, if you ask me. Multi-realistical/dimensional communications are just the start of what you can do with a computer and a good connection. Y'all humans are pretty interesting. Although why you only have hair on your head, I don't know. Evolve. Grow some hair, it'll keep you warm. Wait, you invented stuff to do that for you. I'll keep watching, and I bet in 180 years you'll all be fed through a freaking machine. Like that guy from that film _Star Wars _that Knuckie keeps telling me about. (Long story, but he managed to grab a copy when we were all on Earth in _Sonic X_. Terrible show. I mean _Sonic X_, not _Star Wars_. _Star Wars_ is actually pretty good, although it could do with a few improvements.) Jabba the Hut, his name has. Damn, he was fat. (P.S. We call Knuckie 'Knuckie' because Knuckie doesn't like being called Knuckie.)

Anyways, that's enough of me spoon-feeding you my life story. You're only interested in one week. Here we go, then...

* * *

It all began as just an ordinary Monday. Actually, that's a lie. Let me try that again.

It all began on a quiet Monday morning (you know, because that's the first day of a week), when I woke up to the sound of a crash, and my house/workshop/hangar rumbled a bit. I got out of bed, put some casual clothes on, since I wasn't feeling particularly excited, and went outside to see what had happened. You know, the usual stuff. What I found was not usual at all. There was a box. Yeah, that sounds usual, but its dimensions were not usual. It wasn't very long or wide, but it was EXTREMELY tall. It was dark green, and read _EggLabs Inc. _down its side. Normally, stuff like this changes my life FOREVER. So guess what? I left it alone.

Well, I did say I wasn't in the mood for a life-change.

Anyway, since my belly was rumbling, I went inside and cooked myself up a full Mobian breakfast, which basically consists of bacon, bacon and bacon. We do love bacon here, in our alternate reality that isn't actually happening in your universe. As I was finishing off the last of the extra crunchy bacon (I love it crunchy. That came out wrong.), the box began to rumble. (There's a lot of rumbling stuff in this story already, and we're only a chapter in. Expect repetition in bucket-loads.) So I decided, yeah, I'ma open that crate.

I couldn't.

Seriously, you'd have thought someone had super-glued the top down. (Industrial security, they call it. I call it a waste of time.) So I went back upstairs to find my crowbar. I checked under/in/above/behind the epic cabinet of friendship and love (I'm not going to say why it's called that. Yet... I didn't do it, okay?), under the doormat (Yeah. I have a doormat. Deal with it.), under the B.E.D. Mark 4.2 thingy (it's actually a lot better than a bed, but since I have no other name for it, I call it a bed), and everywhere else I could look. I couldn't find it. (There was a very unsubtle irony in this, but I won't mention it until later.) So I decided to leave it until later, got in my plane, and started it up. And opened the hangar door. And accelerated. And pulled up. And flew. (Seriously, do I need to tell you everything or are you just going to thoroughly search my story for plot-holes, scanning every single letter with an industrial-standard microscope?)

I love flying. It's why I readily and excitedly created the original Tornado, and it's evolved massively ever since. (Sonic said it was his in _Sonic Adventure_. See? He takes credit from me, and that's why I've taken the opportunity of writing on FanFiction. It's free (if you consider paying 40 MBD a month for internet free), easy (in the sense of being easier than sending to a publisher), and you can change your stories at any time (assuming you have a good enough internet connection and no fear of people mocking you). Seriously, FanFiction writers are like the scum of Mobius to "upper-class" idiots. (LOL, reference.))

I get a real kick out of being in the air, wind flying around my head, looking down, stunned by the beautiful views. (I meant views of Mobius' landscapes, pervert.) It's flippin' cold. I mean, if the gods had meant for me to fly, why would they have made it cold in the sky? (Hey, that rhymes, but I don't have time to work out more rhymes.)

You've probably noticed how I use brackets a lot. It helps me organise grouped ideas better when I need to talk about multiple things in the same paragraph, and it also confuses the reader (that's you), so you have to look harder to find those hidden details that completely change the meaning of the story. Then again, like I said before, I don't want people purposely searching the story for plotholes, grammar fails and the like. Nobody's perfect. People make mistakes. Seriously, if you really have so much time to scrutinise people's works, you need to go do something else. Read a book, make a paper plane, I don't know, just SOMETHING! Something that isn't wasting days on end staring at sceens just to find on single errr so you can mak a big dal out of t, like the 6 errors you just saw. (The mistakes were 'sceens', 'on', 'errr', 'mak', 'dal' and 't'.)

Ever heard the phrase 'wouldn't know it if it whacked you in the face"? Well, that certainly wasn't true at this very moment, because it was fairly obvious that a crowbar whacked me in the face. While I was flying. In a plane. Over 9000 feet off the ground. Although I didn't notice it was a crowbar at first, since I'd almost been knocked out. The crowbar rolled down into the cockpit, fortunately, so I got to keep it.

I learned that I had within me, quite literally, an auto-pilot that flew the plane while I was next to unconscious. Obviously, I wasn't completely out, otherwise I wouldn't be able to move, but I wasn't exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed either, and I couldn't think straight. Frankly, I couldn't think in curves either, but that's life. When I'd regained my senses, I found myself landing back in my hangar, just about to touch down. Now, when you're doing something automatically, you tend not to think about it. Landing a plane is generally something you have to think about, and this worried me. How the hell had I been doing all this in my subconscience? I knew that thinking about things you're doing without thinking causes the thing you're doing to stop being done. But landing a plane isn't exactly something you can take your eyes off, so this didn't really help since I'd already panicked too much.

So for some strange reason, my brain told me "do it yourself, you lazy beggar" and decided to make me do the rest. Now, when you've just been borderline unconscious, you're not exactly in fit shape to land a plane. For this reason, the chaos that ensued is undescribable. All I can say is what the hangar looked like after the destruction had died down and all was quiet. Let's just put it this way: a plane crashed into it. It's not exactly going to look like a mansion, is it? The only thing I can make out is a clock that reads 13:37.

Sonic's called me again. I'm never going to finish this story with all these distractions. I'm going to have to give in for a while. Hopefully, I'll be publishing the rest of Monday soon. But life goes on, and nothing is predictable. I found this out the hard way.


End file.
